The Kiss of Death
by Shadowsong1
Summary: A plot bunny...When Hermione asks about the creation of the dementors....
1. The Dark Lady

The Kiss of Death  
  
Disclaimer: The Dark Lady belongs to me. Everyone else belongs officially to J.K. Rowling. This is a plot bunny that bit me when I was rereading the fourth book.it's my theory about the creation of the dementors.enjoy!  
  
Part 1: The Dark Lady  
  
"And in the July of 1020, the school underwent some remarkable changes and---" 16-year-old Hermione Granger did something she had only done once before in Professor Binns' class: she raised her hand. "Yes, Miss.?" "Granger, Professor. I was wondering.do you know how dementors were created?" Professor Binns blinked in surprise. "I do." "Could you tell us?" Harry Potter looked at Hermione as if she were stark, raving mad. "Why would anyone want to know?" he asked her. "Shhh.I'm just curious." "Very well. Let's see.to understand the reasons the dementors were created, you need to understand background information on the Dark witch who allegedly created them. There are few historical sources that give her birth name, so modern historians call her the Dark Lady. "The Dark Lady was a foe to be watched carefully-because, in addition to being one of the most powerful sorcerers to ever walk the earth, she was also a skilled swordswoman. In addition to this, she started her reign of terror very early-she was thirteen when she first tortured someone for information, and no older than fifteen when she first killed. "The Dark Lady went to this very school-was indeed one of the earliest students. She was the first witch to have instruction here. She left the school, not only with power, ambition, coldness, cruelty, and blood staining her hands, but a high sense of morality. She did kill Muggles, on occasion, but she never killed Muggles with magic. Killing was a game to her. She may have written the rules herself, but she always followed them. She always gave her victims a good fighting chance. She always won. "After she left the school, she went around, killing, and making friends. Most of her friends were young witches, powerful in their own right, and athletic, but none nearly so powerful as the Dark Lady. She did have a very few wizards among her followers. And, modern historians theorize, this is where she got her idea for dementors. "The Dark Lady was very famous for many things, but one of them was the fact that, when her male followers were no longer useful to her, she would seduce them. However, though she did this many times, she remained a virgin. She managed this by 'rewarding' their service by inviting them to her bed, showing them what it is to love the Dark Lady, then killing them- and at the same time kissing them. This was her last weapon, and the one she used most rarely. Among her more favored female companions, she joked that she could 'kiss and kill without drawing a deep breath in between.' And this she proved, time and time again." The bell rang then, preventing the class from learning any more about the creation of the dementors. "Why'd you ask that, Hermione? Who cares who created the dementors?" Ron Weasley asked her. "Shush," Hermione said, looking excited. She always did when she had just received new and interesting information. Harry and Ron both groaned. "Here we go again," they said in unison.  
  
As soon as they reached Gryffindor Tower, Hermione told them to stay in the common room, while she went upstairs to get something. She joined them a few minutes later, a small-and very old-notebook in her hands. "Where'd you get that?" Harry asked suspiciously. "Library." "A book like that had to have been in the Restricted Section." "It was." "Then who gave you permission?" "Must you know?" "Yes!" "Snape." Ron dropped his chessboard in surprise. "Why would he do that? And what is it, anyway?" "It's a diary, written in some kind of ancient runes!" "Why'd Snape give you permission to read some old, dead person's diary?" "Actually, he approached me about it. He said he didn't want to ask the Ancient Runes teacher-she only knows Elven and Dwarven-and he wanted me to translate a couple potion recipes in here for him!" "Have you managed to translate it?" "Yes." "Then why don't you return it?" "Because it's interesting." "What's so interesting about some dead guy's diary?" "For your information, it's a dead girl's diary. It was written around the time this school was started." "How do you know?" "Because." "Because why?" "Because it was written by Dementra." "Name doesn't ring a bell," Ron said. "Harry?" "Don't look at me," Harry said. "Dementra," Hermione said, getting annoyed, "Was the oldest of Salazar Slytherin's three daughters!"  
  
(A/N: Ooo.this could get good.the little people in my head are getting quite excited.and we know Slytherin had to have at least ONE kid.next chapter will come when I feel like making it come.) 


	2. Secrets of Dementra

The Kiss of Death  
  
Disclaimer: The Dark Lady belongs to me. Everyone else belongs officially to J.K. Rowling. This is a plot bunny that bit me when I was rereading the fourth book.it's my theory about the creation of the dementors.enjoy!  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long.::grins sheepishly:: I kind of forgot it.  
  
Part 2: Secrets of Dementra  
  
"Whoa.back up a minute." Ron said. "You mean dear old Salazar had three kids?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Three legitimate ones, anyway. Nobody's sure if he had any illegitimate children or not."  
  
"Bloody hell."  
  
"Language, Ron."  
  
"Sorry."  
  
Harry shook his head. "This is just too weird."  
  
Ron nodded. "I agree."  
  
"Really? I think it's quite interesting.  
  
Ron rolled his eyes. "You would."  
  
Harry held up a hand for silence. "Ok, so if Slytherin had three daughters, which one was Voldemort's ancestor?"  
  
"Don't. Say. That. Name!" Ron hissed through clenched teeth. Harry ignored him.  
  
"Cassandra. The youngest."  
  
"How do you know?" Harry asked.  
  
Hermione ticked the three girls off on her fingers. "Dementra never had any children. Brianna-the middle child-was murdered by Dementra when Dementra was twenty and Brianna was eighteen. Cassandra married happily and had twin children-a boy, Arthur, and a girl, Morgan. Morgan lived 'happily ever after,' but Arthur was one of dear old Aunt Dementra's victims."  
  
Harry shuddered. "Sorry I asked."  
  
Ron was gaping at Hermione. "You found all this out from the diary?"  
  
Hermione nodded. "Fascinating things, diaries, aren't they?"  
  
Ron threw up his hands in defeat. "I give up!"  
  
Harry laughed. "Touché, touché. You go, girl! Hermione: one. Ron: zip. Zilch. Nada. Niente-"  
  
Ron threw a pillow at Harry. "Shut up!"  
  
Harry grinned wickedly and winked at Hermione. "Make me." Ron threw another pillow at Harry. Harry caught it and threw it back. In short, pillows were flying everywhere in under ten seconds, as the rest of the 6th year Gryffindor guys decided to join in.  
  
Hermione rolled her eyes and threw her hands up into the air in exasperation. "Boys!" she muttered. There were chorused shouts of, "Hey!" "Take that back!" and other such choice remarks. Someone threw a pillow at her. She threw it back. Within five seconds, she was in the thick of things. The diary lay, forgotten, on a table.  
  
Forgotten, except for one person.  
  
The ghost of a woman in her late twenties to mid thirties slid, unnoticed, through the walls of the Gryffindor common room. She picked up her old diary and began to page through it. She stopped at a point somewhere around her sixteenth birthday. Still unnoticed, she read over that page, a thoughtful, nostalgic expression on her face. She heard the sounds of the pillow fight behind her as if in a different world. She clenched her fists, wishing her past could be erased. What could she do? The girl already knew too much. She could rip out the offensive pages and wipe the girl's memory of them, but that took too much effort. She wasn't even sure her powers would still work. That left only one choice.  
  
Contact. 


	3. Contact

The Kiss of Death  
  
Disclaimer: The Dark Lady belongs to me. Everyone else belongs officially to J.K. Rowling. This is a plot bunny that bit me when I was rereading the fourth book.it's my theory about the creation of the dementors.enjoy! Oh, and any complaints of Dementra acting like a modern teen.well, she's MINE. She acts how *I* want her to act.  
  
Author's Notes: Sorry this took so long.::grins sheepishly:: I kind of forgot it.  
  
Part 3: Contact  
  
Hermione returned to her dormitory around midnight. The boys were still chucking pillows at each other, but she had gotten bored and announced she was going to bed. This brought groans and shouts of "Party pooper!" and "Soilsport!" but she ignored them.  
  
Not really looking around, she began to change. She heard a vexed sound behind her. A soft, silky, breathy voice spoke behind her:  
  
"Now, really, must you do that out in the open?" Hermione jumped and spun around, clutching her robe to her chest. The ghost of a woman in her late twenties to mid thirties sat on the bed, staring directly at Hermione.  
  
"Who-who are you?"  
  
The ghost rolled her eyes. "Why, I'm Dementra!"  
  
Hermione gasped and stepped back in shock. "Wh-what?"  
  
"I'm Dementra."  
  
"How-how can this be?"  
  
"Dear, I'm a ghost. Ghosts aren't bound by mortal restrictions, any more than the living are bound by the rules and regulations of the dead."  
  
"What do you want with me?"  
  
Dementra cocked her head quizzically. "Want with you? What makes you think-ah. You're expecting me to kill you."  
  
Hermione nodded. "You killed your sister. And your nephew. And countless others."  
  
Dementra waved a hand dismissively. "Brianna was a bitch. She challenged my power. It was a simple fight to the death for my throne as Dark Lady. She challenged, I won. Simple as that. As for Arthur.well, let's just say he began to get ideas about where incest ended and passion began." She gave a small shrug. "I had to protect my hard-won virtue."  
  
"So the stories.are not true?"  
  
"Oh, I will freely admit that I killed my male followers when I tired of them, but, yes, some of the stories are not true."  
  
"Which ones?"  
  
Dementra sighed. "Take Cassie for example. She had three children, not two. She had a younger son named Richard. We don't mention him often, because he died young. Six, I believe. And Brianna did not die when she was eighteen. I didn't kill her until she was twenty-one. I had a brother, a twin named William. The fool boy got himself caught by Muggles. He was burned at stake. Sad end for a boy of thirteen. And as for-"  
  
Hermione held up a hand for silence. "I get the picture."  
  
Dementra sighed. "Thank you for keeping my secret."  
  
Hermione blinked. Realization dawned. "Oh. No problem."  
  
"Why didn't you dissillusion them?"  
  
"Too many unanswered questions. Like.why him? Why anyone, but why him of all people?"  
  
Dementra sighed. "He was quite.charming. He swept me off his feet with his manners and his.differences from Father. His similarities also might have had something to do with it."  
  
Hermione, intrigued, pried farther. "What do you mean?"  
  
"Well.Father was seen by most of his adherents to be a god. He was.merely a man. Powerful, and enchanting for those women he chose to charm, but.only a man. On the other hand, *he* was seen by all he touched to be a man. A great man, but a man." Dementra seemed to veritably glow. Her eyes shone with an inner passion that frightened Hermione. "I knew him for what he truly was: a god! And I was to be his goddess! The things we could have done together, he and I.by day, we could have ruled the world. Anything we wanted, anything we desired could have been ours, with a whispered word of magic, a simple thrust of a knife.but the nights.the nights." Dementra's lips parted slightly, and she began panting, her eyes glowing with fervor and passion. Hermione backed up another step, pulling her shirt tighter around herself. Abruptly, the light in Dementra's eyes went out. She sighed. "But it didn't work out. He didn't agree with some of my.methods. In the final conflict, it was he who led to my death."  
  
Hermione blinked in shock. "How?"  
  
Dementra sighed again. "He fought against me. I was thirty-six, he was about twelve years older. He stood at the northern edge of our field of battle, dressed as a knight on a white charger. I never saw why he was so fascinated with those knights-particularly Lancelot. Exceedingly dull fellow. I much preferred Sir Mordred. Much better for dull nights. But I digress. Anyway, to make a long story short, he stood at the north, I stood at the south, we argued, he blasted me, I chopped off his head, and I used my last energies to make him a dementor. And now I must run. I need to go find myself. Ta-ta!"  
  
She vanished as suddenly as she had appeared. Hermione shook her head. Her first contact with an important historical figure, and it was more like a gossip session with Ginny than anything else. 


End file.
